


One Night

by JennaSinclair



Series: Sharing the Sunlight (STS) [13]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-01 04:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12148293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennaSinclair/pseuds/JennaSinclair
Summary: After the end of the five year mission, Kirk and Spock struggle to make time for each other as they wait for new orders.





	One Night

**Author's Note:**

> "One Night" is the thirteenth entry in my Sharing the Sunlight series. Each work was written so that a reader could catch up with what is going on if they haven’t read the previous stories, but of course you’ll get a bit more if you read the series in order. I use the name Jenna Sinclair for this K/S series. I use Jenna Hilary Sinclair for all other fanfiction and my professional work.
> 
> Here's the series in chronological order:
> 
> 1\. Sharing the Sunlight (novel)  
> 2\. Reflections on a Lunar Landscape  
> 3\. Pursuing Hyacinths (novella)  
> 4\. Heart’s Delight (novella)  
> 5\. Primal Scream  
> 6\. Parallel Courses  
> 7\. Double Trouble  
> 8\. Son of Sarek (novella)  
> 9\. Promises to Keep (novel)  
> 10\. Jagged Edges  
> 11\. Manna  
> 12\. Journey’s End  
> 13\. One Night  
> 14\. In the Shade (novel)
> 
> All stories and novels in the Sharing the Sunlight series will be posted to Archive of Our Own.

Don't ask me why I love him. Do you ask why a comet rockets toward the sun and glory? That's how I think of him; my glorious lover is a comet streaking through the universe, he's aflame with the fire of life, glowing with integrity, intelligence, honesty, and those banked flames of passion that he releases only for me. 

Only for me. No one else has ever seen him as he truly is. No one could tell just by looking. Comets are dark and icy, most of the time, in their faraway, solitary orbits. Their splendor is hidden.

I found him right away, as I thought I might. No matter that the bond was ripped away from us almost a year ago, I still heard his quiet voice the minute I materialized in the safe coordinates of the hotel lobby. You might call it serendipity, that he just happened to be there sitting at a lounge table with three other men when I was released from the transporter beam. I would prefer to think that there is still a connection between us, however tenuous, and by whatever name you want to call it: the bond, the _zhisen_ of the ancient Vulcans, or maybe just that deep familiarity you gain of a person who has become the other half of your soul. I looked around the white marble of the New Delhi Radisson hotel, and there he was. 

I could have walked up behind him and surprised him with a hand on his shoulder, but I would never do that to him. God knows, I test his control often enough in other situations. So instead I took the long way around the edges of the gilt ostentation of that four hundred year old lobby and didn't start to walk toward him until I was fully in his view. 

He looked up and saw me, and of course I smiled. Couldn't help it. Damn, I was glad to see him after a three week separation, and the news I carried with me was clamoring to be shared. And needed to be discussed, too. I've never pretended to the control of a Vulcan, just that of a starship captain, and starship captains smile when they see their lover and a jolt of lust and love and pride and possessiveness and plain old happiness takes residence in their chest. 

God, he looked good. Relaxed and confident in his dress uniform, just the way I like to see him, without any tension to etch wrinkles in his brow. As soon as he saw me that little smile danced in his eyes. I don't know how he does that trick, smiling without smiling, but it warmed me even across the distance that still separated us. He murmured something to the other men and got up, but by then I was there, before him. 

"Captain." A respectful salutation that nevertheless held all his affection for me. Sometimes he even calls me captain in bed. He likes calling me that.

"Commander." I matched his affection with every syllable. 

I wanted to put my arm around him, pull him to me in an embrace and kiss him. On the cheek, or maybe even on the lips. Warm, soft, welcoming. And there was something in the way he looked at me that made me think he wanted something more than just words between us, too. We stood there stupidly in the sudden silence at the table where there had been conversation before, staring at one another. I didn't know what was showing on my face, and I didn't give a damn. We might not have made an official acknowledgement of the way we felt about each other to the world, but I suddenly decided that the careful discretion we had shown the past eight weeks on Earth needed to be modified. 

His hands went out, so did mine, and we were gripping each other at the elbows. A compromise that might have looked exceedingly odd, but it was right for us. 

He released me at the same moment I let go of him—though of course we'll never let each other go—and he turned to those who were watching us. "Gentlemen, may I introduce Captain James Kirk, my former commander? Captain, may I present Commander Perez of the Starfleet Planetary Institute, Commander Webster from the _Excelsior,_ and Lieutenant Commander Kohlinski, who is currently stationed at the conservatory at Starbase Seventeen."

I shook hands all around and made the assumption that these were scientists attending the weekend conference on astrophysics at which my Vulcan was the featured speaker. Since the recent end of the five year mission, Starfleet has put us through a rigorous debriefing that's not over yet and has sent us out on one public relations mission after another. The idea is to promote Starfleet through promoting the human Captain James T. Kirk and his valiant, non-human first officer, and much as I found it distasteful, I had to admit it was working. Starfleet approval ratings were up four points in the polls. 

Perez, a tall man with a swarthy, pock-marked complexion, snagged another chair from a nearby table. "Won't you join us, Captain?"

I could hear the curiosity in his well-meaning voice. 

"Thanks," I said easily, "I will," and I sat down. 

After an awkward moment of silence, Spock put his folded hands on the table and said what everyone must have been thinking. "Captain, this is an unexpected visit. I thought you were speaking to the United Laborers conference in Melbourne." There was a touch of concern in his words. _Why are you here?_

But I wasn't going to give him my news right there in front of the others. We'd need some privacy, especially since I wanted to see his reaction unfettered by the presence of strangers and unfurled fully for my eyes. Vulcans might practice a philosophy of emotional restraint, but when they do express emotion, it's pure and focused, like a well-tuned laser that can slice through vast distances—and hearts. It was worth waiting for that. Then we'd get down to the serious discussion of what my news meant for our future together. I'm dedicated to my career, Spock is dedicated to his, but if at all possible, we each want our tomorrows to include the other. I want to wake up to his warm presence in our bed every morning, I want to _be_ with him. To live with him. It's not a sign of weakness to admit that we need another person. It has taken me a while to get to that point, but I can see it clearly. 

At least I could reassure him nothing was wrong. "Everything's fine, but I thought it was about time I visited my first officer again. I haven't seen you for awhile." 

"That is true," he murmured, glancing down at the glass tabletop through which we could see everyone's pants legs, and the ghost of a smile twitched the side of his mouth. He didn't seem discomfited by what I'd said, though it certainly could have been interpreted as the truth that existed between us. Maybe he was thinking of the last time we'd been able to steal some time together. That had been Salzburg. Maybe he was thinking about what we'd done that night. All night. Repeatedly. I know that was a part of my motivation for being there. Sex with my bony, emotionally-restrained, male, former first officer—it's the best I've ever had. I didn't want to wait for it much longer. Three weeks was definitely too long.

He looked up quickly, expression under his control. "Will you be able to stay for the presentation tomorrow?" 

Regretfully I shook my head. I really do enjoy hearing him speak before an audience, it isn't often that he does, but not this time. "Sorry, no. I'm due back in Melbourne in just six hours, at oh-nine-hundred local time. There's a press briefing I can't miss." 

I could see Spock putting two and two together, but the little furrow in his brow showed he didn't have enough data. I smiled enigmatically across the table at him and thought, _Yes, Mr. Spock, I have something to tell you._

"That's oh-three-hundred here," Webster contributed. "Practically the middle of the night. Captain, let me get you a room for while you're here." He had his hand in the air and was beckoning toward the concierge when I stopped him. 

"Don't bother. It's hardly worth it for such a short time." I looked across the table. "I've made the assumption, Mister Spock, that you wouldn't mind extending some hospitality as needed." 

"I would be pleased to do so, Captain."

"Good," I said. "Maybe I won't sleep at all, and we'll just stay up talking. Like we did sometimes on the _Enterprise_." I was rewarded with that lifted eyebrow that he does. McCoy has the same habit, but the effect isn't the same on a rounded eyebrow as it is on a slanted one. 

"If that is what you wish," Spock said, as usual straight-faced. "There is much to discuss since we have seen each other. I am sure that our conversation could easily fill our hours together." 

I believe it. When Spock wants to talk, he can drone on for hours. He used to put it on deliberately just to annoy Bones, and even I have occasionally been astonished by how much information he has in that brilliant mind of his. He could probably expound on the political problems in the capital city of Andoria for those six hours. Or the flea infestation on Mars Colony Six. Not that either subject would be mesmerizing to anyone but him. And though I surely needed to talk to him, I was also yearning to hear the sound of his voice when his body was in a horizontal position. Spock makes an unexpected amount of noise during sex. That was something that really surprised me. For some reason I had assumed, before we shared our first kiss, that he would be a silent lover. I was wrong. 

"Indeed?" I asked deadpan, using one of his favorite words. Then I remembered that there were three other men at the table and this wasn't one of those talks that Spock and I had had on the bridge of the _Enterprise_. There, nobody ever seemed to mind that captain and first officer were talking over their heads and focused exclusively on each other, but here it wasn't very polite. 

"So, Mister Perez, are you enjoying the conference?" I guessed he was the senior officer of the three by his age—about fifty—and the wear of the braid on his uniform cuffs.

"There have been some interesting sessions so far. But you need a drink, Captain." The man indicated the glasses on the table. 

He hailed a woman wearing rustling apricot silk. A sari. That traditional dress does the most amazing things to accent a woman's natural gracefulness. Even though I haven't been with a woman since Spock and I got together—close to two years now—I don't think I'll ever stop looking. I know my eyes were glued on her as she smoothly moved toward us; some Indian women seem to glow with their incredible skin and luminous eyes. I looked and knew even as I was looking that Spock was regarding me with an amused expression. He would be experiencing no threat. He knows that he lives in my heart. 

"Good evening," she said in a soft melodic voice. "How may I serve you?"

I settled on a native light wine, which after a brief and polite tussle went on Kohlinski's tab, and Perez continued to talk about the conference.

"There are some new data coming out of beta quadrant on the pseudo-quasar formations. That was the session this afternoon. And, as you know, Commander Spock is our primary guest for the weekend. He'll be speaking tomorrow morning on the preliminary findings from your encounter with a Graves Gravitational Mass. I'm looking forward to your talk, Commander."

"Me, too," Webster chimed in. "I've read the abstract already. The first manifestation of the high energy particles, I thought it bore a resemblance to the third level plasma formation in the pulsar we found at…."

This was the price I had to pay for not calling Spock before I arrived; if I had let him know I was coming he could have at least tried to clear his schedule. I couldn't very well interrupt a conversation I had no interest in to sweep him away to his room, there to indulge myself in the pleasure of watching him undress, of tasting the sweet tang of his skin, of listening to his body speaking only to me. So I let the science talk drift over my head, sat back and tried to appreciate the delights of anticipation. I watched the way my lover breathed and how his eyes danced with life. I was definitely hungry for Spock's company in whatever way I could get it, and even just sitting there, only watching him and not touching, something inside me eased. I had been filled with more tension than I had realized. 

It was an adjustment that I hadn't anticipated would be difficult to make: learning to live off the _Enterprise_ , learning to live without the responsibilities that had shaped my life for those years. I understood the ebb and flow of a career in Starfleet, how you put in your dues to earn the chance at a long-range mission such as the _Enterprise_ had dared, and then how you put in your dues after that mission to earn another shot at it all over again. I knew how to play the game, and I had anticipated playing the game very well indeed during the time I would be away from an active shipboard posting. Starfleet has a rule recently instituted: mandatory ground assignment, somewhere in the Federation, for two years after a tour of duty like ours. I had intended, and still do intend, to use those years wisely. I have no false modesty; I know I have talents that will be of use to the Federation, and if I cannot be captain of a starship, then I will use my experience and skill in the best way I can, trying all the while to ensure I get back to service among the stars. 

But it had been difficult. The third day off the ship, after the ceremonies and the initial interviews, the mandatory pat on the back from Admiral Nogura in his office high above the Academy campus, and when the official debriefing had barely begun, I spent a sleepless night in the penthouse apartment where they had lodged me. When dawn brightened the sky, I rolled over with a rock in my stomach that made me realize for the first time in a desperate, visceral way how much I missed my life on the _Enterprise_. The competent rhythm of the days on the bridge, with Uhura's clear voice and Sulu's intent excellence; the excitement of charting a dangerous asteroid belt and marking it for unwary travelers to avoid; the challenge of meeting beings from a new intelligent species and learning to communicate with them; the knowledge that the ship and her crew were the first and best line of defense for the billions of people of the Federation, that they relied on us to save them from marauding planet eaters and ambitious Romulans and space-borne parasites. 

Bones has told me more than once that I'm an adrenaline junkie. Maybe. I'm a realist, too. I loved the life I led on the _Enterprise_ but, as the Vulcans put it, there is no logic in expecting rain in the dry season. So I set my mind on the future. It would have been easier if I'd real, significant work to do. But I had to be patient until the debriefing was officially complete, and that process had been delayed because of the way Starfleet Public Relations currently owned so many of my hours. 

Sitting in the hotel lobby with Spock, watching him in such an unfamiliar setting, reassured me. He, too, was coping with a radically different world than the one we had inhabited together, and it must have been harder for him, since he had been on the _Enterprise_ so many years before I had arrived. 

But the sight of him riled me up, too. Since we became lovers, abstinence has been difficult, and I had wanted him even more once we had separated. He had gone off to standard Starfleet housing, me to my penthouse, as if we were a captain and first officer who were only friends. 

It wasn't just my body that needed him, though I felt that physical ache. We fit together, he and I, in a way that's hard to explain. Humans and Vulcans don't usually mix well together, but there's something about him that, well, to use one of his favorite words, fascinates me. And fulfills me. It would have to, or I would never have given up women for him. 

I fell in love with Spock before I knew we would be as fantastic a team in bed as we are—were—on the bridge. I fell in love with his mind, his conversation, his integrity, his compassion, and the way he was falling in love with me. It was only after all that happened that I even noticed he had a body I could be sexually interested in. Men weren't my style. But Spock is. 

No other man has captured my sexual interest since that first realization that I wanted to sleep with my first officer. Women still call to my body; I still sometimes dream of their enfolding softness, the sweet smell of them. It's just that Spock calls to more of me. 

Webster hadn't stopped his expounding, and I made an effort to pull myself out of my contemplations and dwell more in the here and now. I'd heard of him before. He was the recently appointed first officer of the _Excelsior;_ he'd done some excellent work during a run-in with the Romulans when his former ship, a light cruiser, had been patrolling the Neutral Zone, and so he'd been promoted. I knew nothing more of him besides his publicized heroics, except that it was unlikely he or any other first officer would ever match the record evaluation ratings that Spock had earned four years running on the _Enterprise_. I don't care about that sort of thing anymore, although that first year it had been important to me, a raw captain out with my ship and four hundred lives on my hands, to have the best first officer in the fleet, which Spock had become once he'd been promoted in the field, serving by my side. I can admit that now, though I think the proud, slightly pig-headed young man I was then never would have acknowledged it. But I'd needed Spock. 

I regarded Webster and his earnest sincerity. He was just starting out on his journey with Captain Horowitz, while Spock and I, only temporarily, were finished with ours. I wondered at the relationships between captains and first officers. Trust must be genuine and alive, thick between the two, and yet 'fleet also urges a distance, so that the XO is free to offer advice to the captain as well as to follow orders. It's a delicate balancing act, and I've wondered more than once if it might look to outside eyes as if Spock and I had lost that balance. I knew we hadn't. It had been damned difficult at times, but even after I had learned to love every centimeter of his body and every precious expression of his soul, he would still tell me when I was making a bad decision according to his uniquely ethical, logical way of looking at things, and I would still send him into dangerous situations that could have caused his death. 

The end of the five year mission: I will admit that in some ways it was almost a relief. Every day, sometimes every hour of the day, I miss the ship and I miss the life we led, but I recognize that we—all of us, officers and crew—needed to get away from the pressures and dangers that dogged us each mission. Nobody can put up with such pressure indefinitely; one of the recommendations I made officially during the first days of debriefing is that long-term assignments be shortened from five years to four. I could feel the strain in the crew who'd been with us the whole way, and my seat-of-the-pants intuition was confirmed by the psych ratings that Bones took each quarter.

Four years instead of five. If the _Enterprise_ had returned to port at that time, we would never have encountered the _Lox'theneth'nar,_ would never have met the people who had attacked my lover's mind and robbed him of the most important parts of being Vulcan. 

_What is, is._ That familiar deep voice echoed in my mind, though we haven't been able to share in the meld for almost a year. _Cor yr mar. Do not grieve, Jim. Accept what is._

So. Well, at least for the next two or three years, while the _Enterprise_ is being refitted, I won't have to order my lover to his death. 

I mentally rejoined the conversation again. Webster was all wound up, trying to make some sort of abstruse point, and Spock was listening and nodding as if he really cared. Well, maybe it was a good point and he did care. Webster was about my age, perhaps a little older. Spock's age, then, in Earth years. He seemed well-spoken enough, had white blonde hair and classically rugged features. Good looking if you didn't mind a jaw you could cut diamonds on and a muscle-bound physique that hinted that he worked out more for show than for any of the right reasons. 

He wound up his argument by saying, "Do you really think it propelled your ship into a concurrent universe?"

I returned my attention to my lover in time to catch one of his more endearing habits. He cocked his head to the side and considered before speaking. It's one of those things that he probably isn't even aware of doing, but that I've missed during the past eight weeks that we've been living separately. I've found myself reacting to phantom cues from the people around me: a certain rhythm to a walk, a certain deep timbre to a voice, and I'd be turning around expecting to see him.

"Initial data," Spock said mildly, "can be interpreted in various ways. The gravitational mass phenomenon is poorly understood. An alternate, or concurrent, universe is but one possibility." 

"If it wasn't another universe," I put in, "it should have been. I think you're right."

Kohlinski hitched forward in his chair with an intense frown on his pale, pinched face. "I imagine the mission is still classified, but is there anything more you can tell us about what happened? Starbase Seventeen, where I'm stationed, we're on the edge of explored space. I've suspected that a nebular disk not too far away might be harboring a GGM. We've been thinking of sending a team to observe—"

"No!"

"Negative."

We both spoke at the same time, me with considerable heat. Spock deferred to my intensity with a nod. 

"It's too dangerous, Commander. The _Enterprise_ placed warning buoys a full two light years around the GGM that we tangled with. The ship was spatially displaced at about half an LY—"

"Point five two seven light years," Spock put in.

"—and we almost didn't escape from its influence." I leaned back and reminded myself that we had survived the last great adventure of the five year mission. Barely. "If it hadn't been for Mister Spock, we would still be caught in it."

"I am sure that we would have—" he began, but I cut him off.

"You know it's true. All the rest of us were hallucinating. You saved the ship single-handedly. There's not another being who could have done it."

Webster turned to look at my Vulcan with something like awe in his eyes, and I found considerable satisfaction in that. Webster knew the immense complications of running a starship; he would realize how impossible the feat that Spock had accomplished was. "Your entire crew was incapacitated? You were the only one unaffected, and you managed to get the ship out of danger? How?" Webster asked.

Spock actually shifted in his seat, the closest he'd ever come to squirming. He really doesn't like to have the spotlight shining on him or have anybody give him credit for the many extraordinary actions he's taken in service to Starfleet and the people of the Federation. If it weren't a regulation, he wouldn't wear a single one of his many medals at formal 'fleet functions. He truly is content, as he has said many times, in doing his duty and going on from there. My Vulcan's a pretty humble guy. Not artificially so, because he knows his own capabilities, but he doesn't like a fuss being made.

"The captain was also occasionally unaffected by the anomalous space—"

I scoffed out loud. "But I wasn't much help. Gentlemen, Commander Spock was able to initiate automatic programs that…well, saying much more than that would be violating security at this point, but let's just say that the automatic subroutines that he created under great pressure in a matter of hours will be standard on every starship within the year."

"Captain, you exaggerate."

"Commander," I smiled at him, "you are not being logical. Accept credit where credit is due. The entire crew has you to thank for making it back to Earth. I have you to thank…for lots of things." 

I hadn't meant that to come out quite so sincerely in front of the other men, but I meant it. I imagine the look on my face said many things for anyone who could read it, because Kohlinski made an embarrassed sound in the back of his throat, and Perez quickly looked away. Webster just frowned.

Spock smiled his not-smile again, and I had the urge to say to hell with the pleasures of anticipation; I wanted to grab him and kiss him until he had to pull back from me, his hands tightly grasping my shoulders, in order to gasp for air. The way he sometimes does when we get lost in one of our kisses, when neither one of us wants to let the other go. 

Good thing the cocktail server showed up with my wine then, along with the message that a table for five was available in the restaurant and would we care to be seated?

"Will you join us for dinner, Captain?" Spock asked me with great composure, though I was positive he had seen my reaction to him—and that he'd had one of his own to me. A little more than five hours until I would be forced to beam away. What I wouldn't have given to have spent all that time alone with him. And talking with him, too. 

Ignoring the now-speculative look springing to life in Perez's eyes, I said, "It would be a pleasure, Commander," with as much enthusiasm as I could summon, which wasn't much. I got up from the chair while calculating how long the dinner could possibly last. 

Carrying our drinks, we walked through the lounge and to the other side of the lobby, where the restaurant was a glassed-in affair with a view of the dark sky. We could hear the soft _swish-swish_ sounds of vegetation lashed by the fading monsoon rain. I had forgotten that it was the tail-end of monsoon-time in the Indian subcontinent. Even though New Delhi is more properly called New New Delhi after being almost entirely rebuilt after the Eugenics war, there still isn't much that even the most brilliant scientists and engineers can do about the immense global systems that constitute weather. Spock once told me that the algorithms needed to predict even one advancing cold front were beyond current capabilities to produce; he said it with a sort of hungry light in his eyes, and I knew that my scientist-friend would have been challenged by spending lots of time on weather computation. 

But it wouldn't have been exciting enough for him. 

I think maybe most people would be surprised by that observation—I think Bones would be—but it's key to understanding my former first officer. It had dawned on me one day during our first year on the ship together: the question wasn't why Spock wasn't serving on an all-Vulcan ship like the _Intrepid,_ but why he was serving in Starfleet at all. And not just on a land-based Starfleet facility like the Planetary Institute, as Perez was, or on a starbase like Kohlinski, but on a starship. 

People who don't know Spock well, like the men we were having dinner with, look at him and see a quiet, well-spoken individual of great intellect. They might perceive his dynamic curiosity, and if he lets them in close enough, maybe the discipline that drives him. The day I realized that Spock was an adventure-seeker, just as I was, was the day I sat back in the command chair and looked at him with new eyes; there was new kinship between us. 

Oh, I'm not saying Spock can't be satisfied anywhere besides a starship. There's adventure and challenge to be found in many settings. For example, he has a tendency, sometimes, to be too introspective, and I've occasionally wondered whether self-contemplation might be an attractive lifestyle for him, like Earth's monks who wall themselves away in a monastery or the Vulcan ascetics in their desert strongholds. Diving into the depths of one's soul—that's not an attractive or exciting prospect for me, but I know it is for Spock.

But not now. He has a long lifespan. Maybe not as long as a typical Vulcan's—he'll never forget that he's only half-Vulcan—but still a lot longer than I'll live. He'll have time, after I'm gone, to indulge in many different activities, even navel-gazing.

But a diplomatic career like his father's? Or a position in the merchant group that propels the wealth in Spock's clan? I don't think so. Like I said, not exciting enough for my quiet daredevil.

The five of us sat down and ordered from the menu, though I didn't tell any of them that I'd had dinner in Melbourne already, before the news came through just hours previously. I had eaten too many dinners the past weeks with almost-strangers, but this was different because at least Spock was sitting to my right. That's the same side of the bed that he sleeps on, when we have the time to indulge in something as simple as sleeping together. 

It's funny how ordinary events like sharing meals with people you care about or sleeping with your lover can assume such significance when they're taken away from you. When I was getting the ship ready for the end of the mission, I had a lot on my mind and a lot to accomplish, and the last thing I would have considered was whether I was going to miss seeing Bones and Scotty and Sulu and Uhura and Josephs from Security or Dawson from Engineering in one of the _Enterprise’s_ ingloriously gray mess halls. It seemed ridiculous to be reminiscing about bad coffee and reconstituted eggs, but there you have it. 

The food at the Radisson was good, though I didn't eat much of it, and the conversation was interesting up to a point. At least it was a pleasure watching Spock interact with the others, with just conversing with him again. I ranged against him in a gentle argument that developed about the deployment of our ships along the Tholian border, then I reversed course and sided with him when the conversation briefly turned to whether the growing influence of the Eternist party in the Federation Council should be checked. 

Just as the others were finishing up their Tandoori chicken and vegetable curry, the concierge came to our table, gave a little half-bow, and spoke directly to my lover. "You are Commander Spock, correct?"

Spock nodded. "I am."

"There is a call for you from San Francisco, from Commodore Andersen. For your convenience there is a private room off the lobby with a secure holo hook-up."

I almost rolled my eyes. Andersen doesn't deserve a holo hook-up; he's the Starfleet chief of Public Relations, and a more hard-headed bastard it would be difficult to find. He had been pulling my strings—and Spock's—for weeks now, and I was thoroughly sick of the sight of the man and the sound of his voice. It didn't help that he completely believed in what he was doing, and that he could point to the excellent results of his carefully planned and well-orchestrated campaign to boost Starfleet in the eyes of the public. I have had occasion to use methods I didn't fully endorse in order to accomplish a greater good; such choices are inevitable in the complex world in which I live. But I had grown uneasy seeing him manipulate the media with cold-blooded determination, and his satisfaction over the popularity polls made me question his methods. If the public has been maneuvered into thinking and feeling a certain way by people of power and determination, what is the sense of an electorate? 

That's naïve, I know, and I don't allow myself to think that way too often. My idealism, spawned as a child when I was tracking the ascent of Orion through the night sky, with Sam sprawled next to me on the wet grass, with my father's funeral songs still sounding in my ears, is my strength and is my weakness. I have used it as a tool when need be, unleashing it when the time was right, and sometimes indulging myself with speeches that I know my crew had laughed at. Hell, Spock had been amused at them, and at me, but I think it's part of what makes him love me. Because he's like that, too. He once whispered to me, when we were wrapped around each other in bed, "Your flights of fancy delight me." 

But idealism does not survive untainted in this universe, and so I guard mine carefully, keeping it as a spark ready to flare into light only at need. 

Spock helps me with this. He guards my flickering flame. How can I not be idealistic when life has brought me this most unlooked-for union of our souls?

I don't believe Andersen cares much about idealism. It was possible he wanted to tell Spock he was lined up for another speech at the Timbuktu Society of Certified Public Number Crunchers, an important constituency.

But I didn't think so. It was something else.

Spock stood up to follow the concierge to the secure line. "Gentlemen, if you will excuse me?" 

I joined in the murmured chorus of "Yes, of course," and Spock turned to go. 

But then he paused and looked down at me. "Captain, is it possible that this communication from Commodore Andersen is related to your presence here?"

Ah, just like my Vulcan to examine many possibilities. Always gathering data. I once overheard a lieutenant from sciences remarking, "You can't have a normal conversation with Mister Spock. You've always got to be thinking." 

I patted my lips with the napkin and with an imp of mischief deliberately looked guilty, though I wasn't. "What would make you think that?" 

He made a small motion of his right shoulder, an indication to me that he might have sighed if he'd actually allowed himself to react in such a way in public in front of other people. I do ask much of his forbearance, sometimes. 

"I base my conjecture on long experience serving with you. You seldom do anything without a good reason. One reason you might be here is because you are in prior possession of the information about to be imparted by the commodore."

It occurred to me to ask him: _Do I have to have a logical reason for everything? Maybe I just felt like coming to see you._ But of course I didn't. 

So I just smiled. "Go on, Spock," I growled. "Take your call." 

A little beat of silence followed his dignified retreat from my teasing, and then Webster cleared his throat and asked, "Have you known Commander Spock long, Captain?"

"Five years. I was three years behind him at the Academy, and we never met there." 

"I see. I knew Commander Spock when we were cadets. I was two years ahead of him, but he already was so well educated in the sciences that he was accelerated beyond his class." 

"Really?" I hadn't realized the two were old friends. Or at least acquaintances.

"Yes. We kept in touch for a short while after graduation, but then he was assigned to the _Enterprise_ , and she shipped out. I wasn't surprised when he was named first officer; he's…quite a scientist."

"Yes." And quite a first officer, friend, and lover. 

"From what I've known of them, he's not your typical Vulcan."

Spock isn't typical anything, though I thought it presumptuous of Webster to be making such comments. Then I did a mental double take. Webster was fishing for information. He might possibly be…interested. In my Vulcan. 

It came as a shock, though it shouldn't have. We'd met plenty of women during our travels who had thrown out lures to my first officer. It wasn't until after we were lovers, though, that my eyes were opened, and I realized that some of the invitations had come from men. It hadn't even occurred to me that my exotic alien could be attractive to both sexes—any sex—until I myself had tasted a man's body, held his heart and his cock in the palm of my hand.

This was the first time that I was facing sexual interest in the man who was mine. At least I thought so. I wasn't accustomed to reading sexual interest for one man in another.

For a moment I actually considered saying something, making some veiled comment that would stake my claim, so to speak, and steer Webster clear of where he was not welcome. But even before I had formed an approach I abandoned that idea. Spock would deal with the man's attraction in his own way and in his own time. Spock and I could share no bond until he regains his Vulcan psychic powers…if he ever does. When he does. 

So I simply passed Webster the basket of flatbread. "I'm not sure there is a typical Vulcan," I said easily. "Any more than there's a typical human or Andorian."

Perez snorted. "There's definitely a typical Tellerite." 

Kohlinski gave a crack of laughter. "I'll say. Big, fuzzy, and aggressively nasty."

Webster offered a small, perfunctory smile; he wasn't about to let the topic of conversation stray. "I see what you mean, Captain, and I didn't meant to imply that I subscribe to racial stereotypes. But I am looking forward to hearing Commander Spock speak tomorrow morning. I had the pleasure of attending a seminar once before where he was a featured speaker, and his presentation was brilliant. We enjoyed several long conversations then. I was hoping that I could expand on that meeting here in India; I'd like to corner him this weekend and compare notes over any number of topics." 

"You and he would have a lot in common, of course." Webster was letting me know that he had certain plans for the evening, and that I might not have Spock's undivided attention the rest of the hours I'd be here. Well, we would see. 

"I'm a good first officer, but I don't pretend to have half his qualifications in the sciences. Lieutenant Commander Spinelli is science officer on the _Excelsior,_ and I rely on her for analysis. She's here at the conference with me. It's frankly amazing to me how Commander Spock handled both positions for you on the _Enterprise_. It's highly irregular, and when I first heard of it, I thought for sure it was a temporary situation. But you let it go on for more than four years. Why didn't you ever request a replacement for him when he was promoted to exec?" 

"Mr. Webster," I said, "you seem to know something of the commander. Knowing his qualifications, do you think he couldn't handle the workload?" 

"No," he said slowly. "No, I don't. And experience has certainly shown that you made the right decision. Nobody accomplished what the _Enterprise_ did during the five year mission. But it would have been more logical—" he flashed a genuine smile, showing perfect teeth that I uncharitably thought were artificially whitened "—forgive me if I use the word that so many Vulcans use—for you to have the full complement of senior officers on the ship. For additional information. For one more member of the senior staff to lead the junior officers and technicians. Most of all, for perspective." 

Perez sat up straight and looked interested. "I see what you mean. It's been years since I've served on a starship, and then it was just as a lieutenant on third watch, but it's clear to me that any captain needs all the senior officers feeding him information so he can make the best decisions."

Kohlinski put in, "You're being sexist, Raoul. 'His' decision? There will be female starship captains soon, you can bet on it. John's science officer Spinelli for one." He nodded across the table. "She's qualified. She might make it."

"Yes, she might, but not before I get my chance," Webster contributed. 

"That's not the point, anyway," Perez continued. "I guess I'm wondering, if it's not out of line, sir, how you managed to conduct the most successful five year mission in the history of the fleet when you were understaffed at the highest level. It raises some interesting questions about necessary postings on long-term voyages. How many senior officers does a starship really need? Fewer than we thought?" 

What could I say in answer? It would have been easy to pull the senior officer act and shrug off their questions. These men were professionals, and they wouldn't have pushed. But this was also an atmosphere where we had more or less left our ranks at the door, one of honesty and frankness. These were Spock's friends, at least of a sort, people he'd elected to spend time with during the weekend. 

Besides, it was a question I had asked myself often enough. I never had quite understood why Starfleet hadn't insisted that I take a replacement on board. I had never understood why the _Enterprise_ had been so poorly staffed with senior officers to begin with, even before Gary had died—been killed—on virtually the first significant mission we undertook. You would have thought I'd be handed the most experienced staff there was, considering my own age and the doubts some in the Admiralty had expressed about my abilities.

But I did understand why I hadn't requested another science officer to rely upon as the months went by.

"Staffing," I said thoughtfully. "It's important. Have any of you gentlemen ever seen a captain and first officer, of any kind of ship, locked in a disagreement? Where the exec wouldn't back down? Have you seen how that can disrupt the way a ship needs to function? Morale?"

They all looked uncomfortable. Ten months previously the _Hood_ had been recalled to Spacedock, and four of its senior officers, all except the captain, had been quietly replaced without official comment. The rumors had spread like engine coolant aflame, and though Starfleet had put on the best face it could over the incident, those of us in the trade knew that the ship must have come close to a mutiny. 

When the soft murmur of voices from an adjoining table was all we could hear for a while, Perez volunteered, "Yes. I think we know what you mean, Captain."

I continued slowly, "Perspective is important. Vital. If any captain thinks they can go it alone, they're fools. But observing the chain of command is important, too. Knowing when to speak and knowing when to obey. The person offering the perspective must have it themselves. What's for the good of the ship? The good of the Federation?" 

_The good of one's soul?_ Or did we hand that over to Starfleet when we took the oath? I had turned the ship toward Vulcan when Spock went into pon farr. He had persisted over the planet Gideon even when ordered away. We hadn't been lovers then, either time, but what we'd done had been right. For me, I'd known that no sentient being's life should be exchanged for diplomacy and show. Not Spock's life or anyone else's. I could only imagine what his motives had been as he fought Starfleet's bureaucracy for me. I think the seeds of love were there already.

But there was more to my answer. This was important, and I felt strongly about it. I'd labored for many days over an official end-of-mission report dealing with this subject; it was in the Starfleet bureaucratic mill now, but I hoped to see my recommendations eventually implemented at least in part. 

"Staffing is perhaps the most important element in the success of any long-range mission, and we don't pay it enough attention. It was a lucky happenstance that provided me with the person who became the best first officer in the fleet. My right hand. Spock gave me the best advice I could have hoped for. You're right, Commander Webster, he's brilliant, but he's also perceptive. And he knew me. Knows me. Could see where the flaws in my reasoning would be, and he never lacked the courage to point those out. I discovered that with him by my side, I did not lack for sufficient perspective. I didn't need anyone else. So I didn't ask for anybody else."

"So you're saying," Kohlinski said thoughtfully, "that it was Commander Spock's special qualities that allowed you to be successful with an incomplete command structure. Because he's a Vulcan and could handle it." 

"No," Webster put in, "he's saying it was because Spock knew him. Knows him. Knew what to say to his captain. Am I right?"

"If you're implying that he said what I wanted to hear, you'd be wrong, Commander," I said mildly. "And I wouldn't recommend it as a tactic for success." 

"That's not what I'm saying, sir, and I think you know that." 

I had to give the man credit, he was intelligent and had some backbone. I reassessed my first impression of a pretty boy out to impress; perhaps a captain could do worse than have his doggedness on the bridge. 

Webster went on. "You're talking about synchronicity, about compatibility, about Starfleet making up command crews by matching psych profiles. You don't want any that are too similar, but you don't want such incompatibilities that there's no way the senior officers—captain and first officer especially—can't have a good working relationship. A good meeting of the minds." 

And that's what my report had said. Behind it had been my question about the composition of my senior crew when I'd first been handed command, but I didn't know that I would ever have that mystery solved. 

"Correct," I said. "I'd like to see such a meeting of the minds more deliberately formed, rather than left to accident. I hope that you, Mister Webster, have an excellent relationship with Captain Horowitz?" 

"We do all right," he said forthrightly. "There's always room for improvement." A small circle of silence, and then, "I presume that you, Captain Kirk, had an excellent relationship with Commander Spock? Otherwise, you wouldn't have taken time from your busy schedule to, ah, make a trip here."

I didn't prevent my smile from reaching my eyes; this wasn't diplomatic sparring with the Klingons, after all. I was liking Webster's daring more and more. "You might say that, Commander. Of course, it helped that what you said at the beginning of this conversation is also correct."

"And that is?" he encouraged, just a shade too politely.

"That Spock isn't your typical Vulcan." 

And I left it at that, because just then my atypical Vulcan rejoined us at the table. He slid into his chair with a raised eyebrow that told me he'd heard that last remark and would require an explanation for it later. I nodded a welcome back at him and then subsided; it was comforting knowing that there would be a later for us, both tonight after this too-long dinner and all the nights that stretched into the future. There is something to be said for permanent relationships. The knowing.

Naturally none of the others was impolite enough to ask what the call had been all about, and I knew I would get to ask him later, so after a pause we resumed the conversation about the Eternist party. Through the convoluted paths that most such dinner table discussions with strangers take, that eventually led to Perez contemplating his recent posting to the Planetary Institute. The PI was the Federation's foremost scientific think-tank, administered by Starfleet but staffed by many civilians as well. 

"We've got several openings that might be suitable for you, Commander," he said, looking at Spock as this sudden idea struck him. "Now that I think about it, any of them would be a good fit. I've heard that Commissioner Naarn is considering stepping down. And the associate administrator's position has been open for six months. Not to mention the new Dynamic Ionic Motion group that's being put together. They need a head. Any chance I might be working with you in the future?"

Spock aligned his cutlery in his precise fashion. He couldn't help but be bothered by the question, as was I. After two months on Earth, the powers that be still hadn't decided where his skills and experience could best be used. He was in limbo, when just about everybody else from the _Enterprise_ , except me, had already received their new permanent orders. Not exactly unprecedented, but it was beginning to look like there was something behind the delay. Here was Starfleet's most visible non-Terran officer. You'd think that with the PR campaign built around us, the way he and I had forged a team of human and non-human to produce a model, successful mission, that there would be a permanent posting for him announced with fanfare, especially at the Institute. He and I knew all about the openings there, and it would have been a superlatively logical place for him to spend the next two or three years. It was the posting Spock wanted. And the Institute was headquartered on Earth. In Vancouver.

Spock had talked with Commissioner Naarn, privately. He'd spoken with Commodore Finch-Williams, head of Starfleet staffing. He'd contacted old Abdullah Saad, professor emeritus at the Academy, one of his mentors from long ago and still an influential voice in Starfleet. But no information had been forthcoming, nor any explanation for the delay.

"I cannot say at this time, Commander, as I have not yet received my orders. However, a posting to the Institute would be welcomed."

"You haven't received your orders yet?" Webster put in. "That's crazy. You've got to be kidding."

Spock folded his lips over a reply, so I put in, "Vulcans don't 'kid,' Mister Webster. I'm sure that Starfleet will find positions for both of us that will be compatible with our skills and experience." I didn't say: _And will fulfill whatever political requirements have somehow been added to this decision._ It was the only explanation that made sense to me.

"Oh." The hot-headed _Excelsior_ XO subsided. With both of us suffering from Starfleet's indecision at the same time, there was less to complain about. Unless you were one of us.

I was grateful when everyone refused mango custard dessert from the waiter, and we all rose and walked back into the lobby. The elevator stood open invitingly at our back. I couldn't say that I was sorry to be parting from the others. 

Except that we weren't parting. Webster looked a question at Spock, then at me, then he turned back to Spock and asked, "You're coming to the reception, aren't you? Captain Kirk would be welcome." 

We'd already wasted two hours since I materialized; I had yet to exchange one private word with my lover. I didn't want to go anywhere with him in a crowd. "What reception?" I asked evenly.

Spock turned to me with regret in his eyes. "The League of Astrophysicists from the Centaurus VI system has organized a social event in the penthouse lounge. I am afraid that the absence of the featured speaker for the weekend would be…remarked upon." 

Another duty, just like all those duties he and I had fulfilled on the _Enterprise_. 

I pursed my lips in frustration. This visit was not turning out the way I had hoped it would. Stupid of me not to call and claim his time before I arrived, but I'd beamed from Melbourne to San Francisco, then after my conference there I'd spent half an hour wresting Spock's exact current location from Andersen's scheduling people, who were reluctant to deal with my urgency, and then I'd transported straight to New Delhi. Vulcans have this philosophy called Mastery of the Unavoidable. I was instead annoyed at myself and at circumstances, but I knew how to give in gracefully. I sent a look to Spock that said _not too long_ and nodded. "All right."

Webster contributed, "You might not be interested. Just a group of scientists talking shop, I'm afraid."

I faced him with amusement showing. "And where would you suggest I spend my time instead, Mister Webster? Besides, I have generally found that scientists can be congenial company." 

That flustered him for a moment, and small, quickly-extinguished smiles flitted across Perez's and Kohlinski's faces. 

Spock turned toward the elevator. "Then I would suggest we not delay our arrival any longer." 

The turbo rocketed upwards for fifty-seven stories before its doors opened to allow our mismatched party to disgorge itself into the penthouse lounge. Astrophysicists like to drink as much as any group, maybe more because they are so often batting their heads against the mysteries of the universe, and noise and smoke met us like a solid wave as we stepped out. I saw Spock's nose wrinkle. Stim-sticks, by the odor, were in use. Well, I had allowed their presence on the _Enterprise_ during certain occasions, though I was surprised to find them here. Spock doesn't like drugs of any sort. He's intent on maintaining every single one of the brain cells that he has, maybe because he identifies himself through his intellectual power almost exclusively. Or he did, before we got together. Now he's more relaxed, able to accept more of himself. 

"I'm heading for the bar," Kohlinski announced, and Perez followed him. That seemed a reasonable course of action, since I am far less possessive of my brain cells than perhaps my Vulcan would want me to be. 

I turned to Spock and asked, at the same time that a voice from his other side voiced the exact same words, "Can I get you a drink?"

Of course, it was Webster speaking along with me. 

Spock looked at his Academy friend with I know not what expression on his face, then he turned to me with what I can only describe as a long-suffering, put-upon gaze. "Jim," he carefully enunciated, "I must make my presence known to our hosts. Would you care to accompany me?" 

"No," I said quickly. This wasn't another PR junket for me, and I definitely preferred, at least for this night, not to be in the spotlight. "I think I'll just grab a drink. See you in a little while." 

"Undoubtedly," he said, and then he swept away, like an icebreaker elbowing through broken floes of Arctic ice.

"I guess I should have remembered that," said my competitor for the affections of the smartest Vulcan in the room, coming to stand beside me as we watched Spock's progress through the crowd. 

"What's that?"

"That he doesn't go in for alcohol much."

"That's true. He usually drinks guava juice at occasions like this. Or water." Though he had unbent with me a few times, in private.

Webster threw me a wry glance. "He does?" 

"Uh-huh. That's what he would have wanted." I was looking around the room, and though I was sure that there were many people there who were well-known, perhaps even famous within their own specialized area, I realized that there was not a single familiar person other than those with whom I had dined. I threw Webster a glance. "Coming to the bar, Commander?" 

He proffered an honest smile. "Lead on, Captain." 

After collecting another wine for me and a scotch and soda for him, we started to move toward an unoccupied spot before the windows. I encountered a few startled looks of recognition as we made our way; with my face too often on Earth vid programs, that was inevitable. And there were a few puzzled looks, too, as if someone thought, "I know that person, but who is he?" I didn't stop to enlighten anyone, and we arrived with our drinks to what was an admittedly spectacular view of New Delhi, with the rain-streaked glass distorting the lights of the city into multi-colored daubs and bands of rainbow. I settled into a short sofa and Webster sat opposite me in a wing-backed chair. 

The penthouse was one of those glass domes that rotates to give you a view in all directions, just fast enough for you to notice the movement if you concentrated on it. I expected it would make a complete circuit in about an hour, and I sincerely hoped that I would not be present for another. 

It turned out that the first officer of the _Excelsior_ was a good companion. At least I knew we had one thing in common. But once Webster refocused his attention away from the guest speaker for the conference, he was a pleasant, easy-going conversationalist who had interesting things to say. I'm not exactly sure why he chose to spend his time with me instead of pursuing Spock through the alcoholic noise and stim-stick haze; it might have been interesting to see him try to corner a Vulcan who didn't want to be cornered. Maybe that look Spock had given him had discouraged him. Anyway, Webster and I sat across from each other, drinks in our hands, relaxed in a small cocoon of privacy, and we talked about the inconsequential topics that chance-met strangers generally do, words that don't reveal all that much of ourselves and don't probe too deeply into our beliefs. It's the kind of conversation that Spock accomplishes very well when he has to and yet heartily disdains. He doesn't see much sense in desultory dialogue, not when there are so many fascinating problems in the universe to solve. 

Webster and I didn't solve any of them, but we did while away half an hour and more while our perch in the skies rotated gently. About the time our interest in each other started to seriously wane and I started counting minutes again, Spock showed up and settled next to me on the sofa. I listed to one side as his weight pushed the cushion down, then righted myself to put the requisite centimeters of space between his warmth and my desire to touch it. 

I looked at my lover with affection as he sat there on the edge of the seat with an easy yet serious expression, his hands clasped loosely between his knees. Spock has always looked, to my eyes, particularly handsome in his dress uniform. Blue of all shades seems to become him, and black, too. "Duty accomplished?" I asked lightly, because I didn't want to push. 

Spock twisted to regard me, since I was relaxed against the sofa back. "I believe so. I regret that this social obligation has abbreviated the time I could spend with you tonight." 

"That's all right." Mastery of the Unavoidable after all, though I know the Vulcans intend it for something far more serious than controlling my desire to have sex—make love—with the man sitting next to me as soon as I could. "Besides, the night is still young." 

"It is almost midnight," he corrected. "In Melbourne it is oh-six-hundred and your sun is rising. Your press conference is but three hours away."

"True enough." I was conscious of Webster listening to every word. I wanted to get to Spock's room but not at the expense of making either of us too obvious. "But it won't be the first time I've gone without sleep."

There didn't seem to be any rejoinder to that, and the three of us sat in silence for a moment while the clink of glasses and the chatter of conversation paced around us. 

Then Spock looked up from contemplating his hands to ask Webster, "Will you be attending the afternoon session tomorrow?" 

"Barrington's talk on energized ions in pulsars? I think I'll skip it. Maybe you should, too."

Spock's brow took wing. "And why is that?"  
"I don't think," Webster said evenly, his gaze darting from my former first officer to me and back again, "that you'll be getting much sleep tonight, either. Right?"

I laughed softly and ignored the question within that question. "Mr. Webster, one thing you will learn if you ever have the good fortune to serve with a Vulcan is that they don't require much sleep. Commander Spock once worked for fifty-nine days straight without rest." 

Honest surprise rested on Webster's classically formed features. Maybe the wine had made me mellow, or maybe it had been the inoffensive time I'd spent in his company, or maybe it was the fact that Spock was sitting so close to me and I knew he was mine, but I felt forgiving toward the man. 

"Fifty-nine days?" he asked. "I didn't think that was possible. Even for non-humans."

"Provided the right motivation, Commander," Spock said, "many things are possible."

I looked over at my lover. All the gratitude for all the times he'd rescued me from one danger or another was in that look. "He saved my life. And the lives of many other people." 

Spock regarded the floor. "But not all lives. Not everyone's."

He meant Miramanee and our child, but those are old wounds, if not long since healed, at least accepted and dealt with. "You did what you could," I said softly. "And regrets are illogical, aren't they?" 

He looked back to me with a quick motion and captured my gaze with that soul-deep way he has. In the low light of the lounge, his brown eyes were black as night. "Yes, they are. Nevertheless…."

I shook my head with conviction. "No. That's just the way it is. And that's fine. More than fine."

I think that's what started it all between us: the way he looks at me. On the bridge, during a briefing, in a planet's sunlight, anywhere Spock's gaze carries so much of himself in it for anyone who cares to really observe. For the first time that evening Spock and I communicated, just the two of us. I didn't want to drag my eyes away from his. His dark gaze glimmered with intelligence and caring. I wanted to touch him so much that the hair on the back of my hands stirred with my desire.

As if coming from a great distance, I heard Webster clear his throat. Then, "I think I'll get another drink. Mister Spock, I'll get you some guava juice." He got up and left, and the smile I'd been hiding came slowly out to play with the light in Spock's eyes. 

_That's it!_ Three hours of waiting on top of three weeks of abstinence was enough.

"Mr. Spock," I said low and huskily. I wanted to hitch myself forward, closer to him, not giving a damn if anyone were witnessing this performance, but the truth was that we both gave a damn, for private and professional reasons. I was the former captain of the _Enterprise_ , he was Starfleet's prominent Vulcan and son of Sarek, and we would not expose our private selves to curious eyes. So I stayed where I was, casually leaning back, but I found the right words. "Can I convince you that I am in urgent need of a private conference?"

His finely sculptured lips pursed and then relaxed. "I believe that could be arranged, Captain." 

We stayed there like that, he looking out over the life of New Delhi, me sitting and watching him, and anticipation grew between us. I allowed my smile to grow, too.

"What did Commodore Andersen want?"

"A matter of no relevance."

"I doubt that. It was about the John Christopher medal, wasn't it? For how you saved the ship in the Graves Gravitational Mass."

He turned to regard me with reproach. "You did know."

"I recommended you for it months ago, and then I had to sign the formal documentation that Andersen's office drew up."

"I dislike subjecting myself to such a display. It is being done for show and to add fuel to the publicity campaign."

"It's being done for that, yes," I agreed, "and also because you really deserve such recognition."

"My actions were propelled by duty."

"And logic, too, I know. But not everyone has the strength to act as you did, nor the intelligence. Or the will."

He slowly shook his head. "We will not agree on this."

"I know. Thank goodness there are other things on which humans and Vulcans agree." 

"Yes," he said, a smile sitting lightly on his lips. "Such as our need for a private conference. Shall we go?" 

"Definitely."

We both stood just as Webster returned with two drinks in hand. He regarded us with a sort of rueful irony and seemed about to speak when we were interrupted by an amplified voice ringing through the lounge. 

"Attention. May I have your attention, please?" The hubbub died down, or at least diminished. "As the representative of the League of Astrophysicists from Centaurus VI, home of the Centaurus University, greatest place in the Federation for the study of all space-related sciences, I'd like to welcome you all to our little gathering. Hope you're having fun."

A scattering of applause responded. I pinpointed who was talking, a dark-skinned, balding human man over in the corner near the bar. A foremost physicist with whom Spock had corresponded, if I remembered correctly. 

"Before I let you all get back to whatever you've been doing—I'm gonna win that argument, Harry, there are _no_ Cepheid variables in delta sector—I have a special announcement to make. This just came through on the wires a few minutes ago, I want to thank Lizzie Cho for bringing it to my attention. Our guest speaker, Commander Spock of Starfleet, who'll be conducting the keynote session tomorrow morning, will be receiving Starfleet's John Christopher Award for Exceptional Acts in Service to the Federation next week. Just announced, really. We're lucky to have a genuine hero with us this weekend, and we'd like a big round of applause for Commander Spock, who's standing right over there by the big potted palm. Congratulations, Commander! Somebody buy that man a drink!"  
What could we do? The room rocked with the sound of hands pounding together, many of them from beings who were more than a little intoxicated, and the men and women who had granted me my circle of privacy violated it now to crowd around my famous Vulcan. 

I could feel Spock's displeasure in it all—you don't need a bond to read outraged resignation—and I could feel our precious private hours together slipping away. But we both knew how to conduct ourselves under such circumstances, so he graciously acknowledged the attention being given him by people offering handshakes and a babble of words, and he was forced to introduce me, the man standing by his side. 

Notoriety—or should I call it fame, with all its negative connotations of superficiality—has its price. 

It also, occasionally, has it rewards.

We stood there for not even twenty minutes, mobbed and doing our best for Starfleet-scientist relations, when a familiar figure elbowed his way through the enthusiastic crowd. It was Webster, a man with a mission.

"Excuse me, pardon me, excuse me." He stood before us and didn't hesitate to interrupt the ponderous conversation a tiny woman was imperiously orchestrating with both Spock and me. A circle of men, one of them impatiently tapping his foot, waited to have their turn with us once she was through. "Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, I'm sorry to have to call you away, but there is an urgent call waiting for you both from Commodore…" there was a noticeable pause while he searched for a name, "…Andersen. There's a private room in the lobby with a secure line waiting for you."

We didn't even stop to thank him, sad to say, we just took our good luck and ran with it. Spock made his departure with great grace and his usual slightly-distant aplomb. I shamelessly kissed the woman's hand—she got very flustered—and promised the toe-tapper that he would have his chance to talk with Commander Spock at another time, perhaps tomorrow, since there was no telling how long this consultation with the commodore would take. We plowed our way through the crowd with determination that would not be deterred. By some miracle one of the turbo doors stood open, and as we entered the lift and turned to face the room from which we were making such an inspired escape, there was Webster.

For a moment I entertained the wild thought that he would try to join us, but he merely winked and said, "Enjoy your evening, gentlemen. I'm sure that the commodore, if he had called, would send his regards." The doors closed, and Spock and I were alone.

I couldn't help it, I laughed out loud. Webster was someone I wouldn't mind getting to know better, proving that first impressions were not always accurate. 

Spock folded his hands behind his back, told the turbo, "Floor thirty-six," and then observed, "I believe there is an excellent chance that Commander Webster has deduced the nature of our relationship."

I subdued my remaining chuckles and agreed. "And colluded with us to further it, too. Do you mind?"

"That he supposes us to be lovers? Negative. We did not make any effort to deceive him or the others."

"Good. I think I like it that way. Remember what we talked about back on the ship?" 

He regarded me with long-suffering indulgence. Of course we had talked about hundreds, thousands of subjects on the ship, but as usual he and I thought enough alike that I didn't need to elaborate. "About cohabitation during the period before we can be assigned space duty again."

"When we get a place together, everybody will know."

"All things in their time. We do not yet know if we will even be assigned to the same planet."

I closed my mouth over a reply. The turbo opened and we walked in silence along the lushly carpeted hall to his room. 

Spock pressed his palm to the identi-plate. "After you," he said, stepping back with a gesture of his hand. 

I walked inside a few steps to the automatically brightening lights, then turned to face him as the door closed. We were alone now and finally free to be completely ourselves. That's the gift. Maybe that's what we really were striving for all along, not just the past three hours but all the months and years before that. Finding a safe harbor with someone who knows us completely, someone whom we trust. 

He stood there with his back to the door, his arms at his side, his hands clenched. Spock has a way of slipping quietly through the days, being there but not really _there,_ as if he is a spirit without substance. He doesn't project physicality, or sexuality, in the way that a human does. Maybe that's why there was the slow awakening between us on the ship, as we each gradually realized that we wanted the other, that we fit together. In the early days of our relationship, he had to fight to connect himself with his body's sensations and the emotions I inspired in him. 

Now, his eyes flickered shut. His palms opened and he took a breath. His shoulders flexed, then the tension in them released. He opened his eyes, and the smile in them was just for me. 

Just like that, my lover stood before me, wanting me.

My lover. James T. Kirk and Spock of Vulcan, joined together in the mysterious dance of love and sex. It hardly seems possible sometimes. But there is no one who understands me as he does. Who knows me to the core. My relationship with Spock isn't like any of the relationships I had shared with women, even the ones that had lasted a while. The creative tension that exists between men and women is fueled in part because of the differences between the sexes; the differences between Spock and me are ones of species, not gender. As astonishing as it still occasionally seems to me, we are both male. 

And he is a beautiful male creature. Still razor thin, still looking taller than he really is because of it. Still pale, but that's just his genetic predisposition, not induced by stress or danger now. Still with large, sensitive hands that I wanted on my body, and a heart that I wanted in my soul. Still with eyes looking at me with fire, with desire. 

Relationships don't survive separations, my mother told me more than once, bitterly, even before my father died. But mine had. I wanted him more than I ever had. As busy as I'd been since the mission had ended, there had been a stinging thread through every day that had consisted of him not being there, and my wish that we'd been together. Not a weakness, a strength. I am stronger and better when we are together. Definitely happier.

"Captain," he said with those deceptive lips of his, the lips that formed logical words but also plucked pleasure from my body. He caressed the syllables, offering me the title that had also turned into an expression of love. 

I smiled as I said in turn, "Commander."

_Ah, come kiss me, Spock._

And though he could not possibly have perceived the thought, he erased the distance between us and caught me in his arms. 

It wasn't just me needing him. His response came from his own need. I was not the only one who had been frustrated by the demands of the evening that had kept us apart.

He felt wonderful. I have grown accustomed to holding a taller body against me, but it was a shocking pleasure to actually touch him after the long wait; shivers of tension being released and pleasure being born raced down the inside of my arms where they settled around him. My chest tingled where it pressed against his hard masculine warmth, too. It was a little awkward to be embracing one dress uniform to another—those fabrics aren't meant to slide against each other—but with a small laugh I pulled back to adjust, we came together again more squarely, and our mouths joined in a kiss.

"Hmmmm," I hummed against his closed lips, touching them with the tip of my tongue to gather the taste of him once again. "Hello." 

"Welcome," he drew back just enough to say in a deep vibrating voice and with a spark in his eyes that revealed his complete satisfaction in standing there with me, "to New Delhi." 

And then we really kissed, the way that lovers connect body to body when they've been separated and yet are still yearning for one another. I squeezed my arms around him and slowly opened my mouth, wanting the touch of his tongue against mine.

Delicately he matched me, pushing the probing heat of his tongue out until our tongue tips met in the space between us. Shockingly sexual. I breathed hard. And he growled deeply, from the chest, the first sexual sound as we panted against each other, our tongues running slickly over one another. Wonderful, but there wasn't enough contact. I hitched forward, though we were so pressed together that it didn't seem likely we could get closer. He matched me with a small push of his pelvis, gifting my awakening cock with its first moment of direct pleasure. 

"Oh," I panted. The tongue-caressing was definitely not enough. I pressed into an open-mouthed kiss that he needed, too. It lasted a long time, that reacquainting of our mouths and lips and tongues, of the first of our bodies' fluids. He tasted, as he always does, like fresh water scented with spring air, maybe because he's a Vulcan, or maybe because he's a vegetarian. I do know I don't want to kiss anyone else, as I am fulfilled with him. 

He moved his hands up to grasp my shoulders, and I reached to push my fingers through his hair. I flexed them over and over through his short, dark strands as we kissed, loving it, even as I felt his fingers spread to massage my back. It was exactly what I had been craving. I'd had enough of the conversations, the measured looks, and the restrained responses we had exchanged all evening. Enough of the distance. Now I needed to touch him and be touched in his eagerness and need, to feel his warm physical presence in my arms.

In bed. Without any clothes. 

I pulled back and smiled at his now fuller, darker, kiss-bruised lips. "You know, I am here for a reason. Another reason than this. I have something to tell you."

"Surely," he murmured, bending to breathe soft puffs of air against my neck, to press small kisses there, "it can wait. It has been a while, Jim." 

My neck tingled where his lips fluttered, opening a line of sensation straight down my chest and stomach, lifting my cock. I was not about to postpone our love-making. 

"All right." I kissed that soft space right behind and under his ear, where the skin is as delicate and soft as a baby's. "Let's go to bed."  
I grabbed his hand and turned to survey the room, not even knowing which direction to go to find the bed, but he pulled me along without hesitation to a room showing through a small archway. A suite, of course, that was provided for the guest speaker, but all we needed was a flat surface. And a soft surface, ideally, so we didn't hurt each other when in our passion we moved against each other. 

Many of the women I have been with enjoyed being undressed, and I usually tried to oblige them even when my hormones were raging, but we didn't need or want that now. It's part of the pleasure of an enduring relationship, where there is knowledge already, and surety, and no need for the practiced rituals preceding a first time mating. Where there is a match. So we parted at the foot of the bed to stand on each side and pulled off our clothes as fast as we could. He was finished first, and as I tugged off my briefs he pulled the bedspread and blankets down, lay down on his back, and extended his arms. 

"Come here," he said, thickly. 

But I had to stop a moment and look at him in all his lean alabaster glory. I loved how he looked, and the sight of his naked body, open and untouched, aroused me even more, so that I could feel the blood flushing my face and rushing through my arms. The blood flooded my cock, too, urging me to lie down against him and take my pleasure. He was Spock of Vulcan, with long arms and legs, strong, well-muscled shoulders, his own cock firming with desire, and he was mine. 

Mine to love and cherish, mine to live with and learn, mine to thank for all the days he promised me and all the days we had lived together already. Mine to thank for the lives he had rescued when we had been lost in the Graves Gravitational Mass, and for the life he had enriched when, for the first time, he had with great courage said, "I love you, Jim." 

Truly, he had rescued me from the life I might have led without him. 

I eased myself down, slowly, into his arms and rocked gently until our bodies were united front to front, with both of us on our sides. He reached down to adjust our cocks so that they nestled next to each other without strain, and I smiled as I felt his fingers lingering against me. 

"It hasn't changed," I teased him. 

"No, it hasn't," he whispered, his face so close to me, his brown eyes glowing. "You never change. You are always perfect." 

I move him to illogical statements. It is another gift. And a burden, for I must guard him from hurt. 

I blinked back the tightening of my throat, and suddenly he was moving, sliding down in the bed. My whole lower body throbbed in excited anticipation when I realized what he would do, and I cooperated by turning over onto my back. 

I grabbed the pillow on which I was haphazardly lying, turned it double and stuffed it under my head to support me. I loved seeing him suck me.

He took hold of my cock at the base, breathed against it, licked it from top to bottom. Not a performance, though he knew I was watching, but rather a complete concentration, which I think is the only way that Spock knows how to live. 

When his mouth settled over me I sighed and fought against closing my eyes. So good, the touch of those warm lips, the suction he knew just how to apply, how he lingered with a fluttering tongue against that spot just beneath my cockhead where I am most sensitive. We had melded once, back when we could, while he probed my responses, and now he knows how to excite me almost past bearing. 

My eyes had closed after all, and I gasped as he drove his mouth down my cock, then up, then down, his hand closing around me halfway down and also moving. _God. God._ I jerked up without thinking, wanting more of the same sensation, not thinking of how I might gag him, but he rode me easily with an exultant, uninhibited growl that spoke of his own vicarious pleasure. Then his hands were on my hips, pressing me down, pinning me to the mattress, and that touch told me what I wanted, how I wanted our expression of love to reach culmination. In a minute. In a few minutes. God, this felt good. He has the sweetest, most talented spring-water mouth.

I told him so, breathlessly, and he paused for a moment to look up at me with glowing, knowing eyes. "You enjoy this." 

"I enjoy you."

He answered with a swipe of his tongue down my shaft, down into my balls, where I could feel his nose and his tongue gently probing, and I concentrated hard on not moving. The pleasures of anticipation, indeed. When he finally moved back up to my cock, I gasped my strangled delight out loud.

But I didn't want to come like this. For one thing, too soon. For another thing, another need had awakened in me: to feel his strength inside me, him taking his pleasure, me taking pleasure of a different sort. I struggled for minutes with conflicting desires, for he made me feel so good sucking me that I kept thinking _one more lick, just one more and I'll stop him._ I rode it as long as I could, drawing out the thrill of his warm mouth on my cock until I knew that in another few seconds my control would break and I'd come. 

"Stop!" I choked out, and I reached down to pull him up next to me. He came willingly into my arms, but I kept our lower bodies apart so my super-sensitive shaft would have some time to calm down. 

I kissed him and said, urgently, "Lubricant. You must have some lubricant with you, right? I want you inside me. Now."

He blinked, for I didn't often ask for that, and even more rarely did the asking rise from my own passion. 

But he didn't question, just immediately slid from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, to reappear in short seconds with one of our tubes in his hand. As he settled back on his heels beside me, his beautiful cock jutted straight out toward me, and I could not resist reaching out to touch the fully-flared double ridges. They were silky smooth, with warmth that was almost heat, and pulsing with blood. 

"Jim," he murmured when I turned my hand so I could stroke him from my position still on the bed. "I…." Then, when my thumb flicked over his cockhead, an abandoned "Ahhhhh." 

It was imperative for me to taste him, too, so I hitched forward and wrapped one arm around his waist, then raised up until my mouth could lower over his hardness.

He loved it, and he let me know it, too, with gasps and strangled words in Vulcan, and a hand on my head that tried hard not to push me down. A passionate Vulcan's strength is not to be trifled with, but we'd perfected our lovemaking so that I had no fears. 

I sucked him like that for long minutes, my head moving in his lap, both of us straining to maintain the slightly uncomfortable positions we were in because neither one of us wanted to stop what we were doing. But finally a firm hand on my forehead pushed me back, and he genuinely sighed. "That will not be sufficient lubrication." 

I rolled over back to the bed and looked up at him staring down at me. "I know. Here," and then I moved again, onto my stomach. I lifted my hips high. Into the muffling pillow I suggested, "How about like this?"

There is a thrill to exposing one's complete self to a lover. That was part of what bound us, Spock and me, how deeply we had gone in the melds and all the soul secrets we had shared. But there is something to be said for surrender of the body as well. 

His fingers spread against my ass, and I inhaled sharply when he pulled my ass cheeks apart. The touch of his fingertip on my anus—familiar and yet not. Always new with him. The wet slickness of the lubricant as he plunged one finger inside me. 

Like I said, it is the knowing. The trusting. For a moment I flashed back to the two of us sitting with decorum in the lobby of the hotel, talking with Perez and Kohlinski and Webster, and then back to what we would look like now to a third party observer, with Spock's finger buried in me deeply, putting another one in, opening me. 

"Now," I gasped, and I heaved up onto all fours, feeling the sharp outline of his digits inside as I moved. It didn't hurt, just accentuated what he was doing, and for some reason that aroused me even more. My cock swelled and throbbed even though neither of us were touching it. "Quick."

But it was impossible to push Spock when he had a different agenda, so now instead of penetrating me with a sudden thrust and one of his wildly-exciting almost-shouts, he withdrew his fingers, crouched down on the bed and substituted his mouth instead. 

"Oh, you bastard," I murmured in love, painting an image of what he was doing in my mind's eye, because he knew how I loved having my ass licked and my anus rimmed by the tip of his tongue. I had never even known that I was sensitive there, had never allowed my female lovers access because I was always so intent on orchestrating their pleasure and my climax. But with Spock, everything was different. He had mapped every inch of my body and memorized my reactions, subcategorized, I am sure, according to my state of sexual excitement. 

But that's part of what I love about him. Logic in love. 

"You are beautiful, my captain" he whispered with a hitch to his sex-roughened voice. "Every part of you. Even here."

I snorted a chuckle, and it came out strangled because he was doing the most incredible things to me with his tongue. "If you say so. Spock, you're killing me. Please." 

I loved it that he didn't ask _Are you sure?_ Or _This is what you want?_ Maybe I didn't indulge in the pleasures of being penetrated as often as I might, but he had the confidence not to second guess me.

The blunt pressure of his cock against me was a relief, and I hung my head low between my straightened arms and braced myself as he centered himself and then pushed.

 _Oh, God._

I wished we were melded so he could feel this, this nameless, thrumming emotion welling up in me, straight from the body. I shivered helplessly all over as he pushed in some more, breaching my sphincter completely, moving forward steadily into me, filling me up with his heavy cock, its tightness and straightness and strength. 

Yes, this is what I wanted. All of him that I could have. It was what I had come to India for. I found myself smiling foolishly down at the pillow even as I gasped out my pleasure. 

"Jim," he moaned, and the excitement in his voice was like a sunrise bursting over the horizon, flooding me with the light of his desire. I loved the way his voice deepened during sex, the way he panted fast and low, the way it was so unmistakable that he was aroused. Then I heard a loud, definite swallow, an attempt at calming, and his hands tightened on my hips. "May I proceed?"

I imagined what he must look like as he waited for my reply that it was okay to go ahead and fuck me through the mattress. My abandoned Vulcan, with his cock about to explode up my ass, his face tense with pleasure. Thinking about Spock's face made me harder than I could bear. I wanted to touch myself, to jerk myself off while I was stretched by the size and presence of his cock, but not yet, not yet. I knew I'd come in just seconds if I did that. 

"Go ahead," I managed.

But, perversely, instead he kissed down my spine, then all over, every part that he could reach, almost up to my shoulder blades, and every place his lips touched a small fire started on my skin and spread to join with all the other small fires until my whole back was a conflagration of touch and sensation. 

"Damn, that feels good," I shuddered, and I meant the way his cock was moving me with each kiss, too. I could feel it, defining this new space in me that he made, pushing to the left or the right, stretching me, moving me forward or backwards. 

"Please," I begged the man who was mounted above me, inside me. "Now!"

So he straightened onto his knees, gripped my hips with his big, warm hands, then pulled out of me until just the head of his cock must have been inside. Then just as slowly, and with more control than I could have mustered, he pushed back in. 

It felt…I don't know that there are words to explain how it feels. It's not a natural thing, at least for me it isn't, wanting a man's cock moving up my ass, but in the two years we've been together, many of my sexual cues have changed. Part of that is because of the melds we shared and the bond that was just unfurling when it was destroyed, but part of it, I think, is just because I love him. It's the attunement of lovers that causes his excitement to spark my own, that causes my pleasure to be his. We were one creature joined by his column of erect flesh, and damn it, I loved it. Every slow, deliberate, maddening thrust into me tugged on cord that seemed to connect Spock's cock with my own. 

"Oh, yeah," I told him with what little breath I could muster. "That feels so good. Faster. More." 

He listened and obeyed, my dear first officer obeying his captain in bed, and his strokes came faster, harder, and even deeper, if that were possible. I gasped in unison with him as he rocked my body, as I held myself open for him. My cock was jutting out straight and strong, still quivering for a touch, and now I couldn't resist. I shifted all my weight to the left, maintaining the rhythm Spock imposed, and reached with my right hand to grab my own cock. 

I moaned. It felt really good. I jerked myself with hard, sharp strokes the full length of my column, just the way I like it. 

In a few seconds Spock realized what I was doing, and that was enough. "Jim, yes" he gasped, "touch yourself, touch—"

He exploded with a wild cry that probably was heard next door, if anybody had been listening, and thrust into me so hard that he pushed me, one handed as I was, higher up on the mattress. I collapsed down onto my elbow just as he jetted all his come inside and I was flooded by his warmth, but I didn't lose my grip on my cock or my own stroking rhythm that was bringing me close, so close, because it felt so good. 

For a few frozen, panting seconds he hung over me, gasping for air as his orgasm faded. But I couldn't stop working my hand, pulling on myself, pulling. Damn, I wanted to come. Close. I was really close….

With a growl he rolled us both over onto our sides and bit vigorously into my right shoulder. The state I was in, even that felt good. Then he batted my hand away and took over pleasuring me. His cock still inside me, his hand controlling my responses…. I arched back against him and opened up to that first sensation of surrender, that complete loss of self to the body. 

"Yes," he insisted, and his hand worked even faster.

"Yes!" I bellowed. I trembled and shook, my toes curled, and finally my come flew out of my body, pulsing with force across the expanse of the bed coverings.

One of the best orgasms of my life. But then, that can be said for many of the sexual experiences I've shared with my Vulcan lover.

We settled against each other, me with a sigh, he with a kiss to the back of my neck. A minute later his cock slipped from me, and he didn't even flinch; I think he was asleep already. I fought against the same encroaching lassitude that had captured my tuckered-out Spock, because there was never enough time to spend with him and I wanted to wake him up and tell him my news, but as my eyes drooped I knew that was a battle I'd lose. 

I awakened to darkness—the room computer had dimmed the lights when the sensors registered no movement or sound—and to the comforting, longed-for knowledge that I was in bed with my lover. I could hear his steady, dream-filled breathing behind me, and his right arm rested around my waist.

I rolled over as quietly as I could and tried not to wake him, glancing at the bedside clock as I did so; it was two o'clock in the morning. We had slept well more than an hour. 

His sharp, masculine profile was apparent in the dimness lit by the clock light, and I remembered back to the early days of our mission, before we were lovers, when we sometimes slept in shifts on various planets during dangerous conditions, and how disconcerted I'd been when I first saw him sleeping with his eyes open. Back then, even through our dawning friendship, Spock had seemed strange, to an extent forbidding. How quickly that time had passed. Now everything about him was familiar and loved. From his assertive slanting eyebrows—my hand lifted in the dark and traced an inch above his sleeping face—to the line of his strong, big nose—my fingertips skimmed without touching—to his lips. I leaned forward and kissed them. 

"Wake up," I whispered. "Wake up for me."

I gathered him close by slipping my arm around his shoulder, trying to memorize, against our inevitable parting, the feel of his skin sliding on my fingertips. He turned blindly, seeking my face, and I kissed him again, gently, the kiss of lovers reunited.

"I love you," I told him with my lips alone, since he could not see into my mind.  
His fingers caressed through my hair, and he stared into my eyes. "You are my t'hy'la, always. I am glad you came to New Delhi, Jim." 

I smiled. "Me, too. Though for a while I didn't think I'd ever get you alone. Computer, lights up one-quarter."

We maneuvered into one of our favorite post-coital positions, with me stomach down on top of him. It makes for good face-to-face communication, and he's strong enough to take my weight for as long as we want. I rested my chin on my folded arms and happily took in the sight I'd come far to see.

His hand found its way to where he had bitten the back of my shoulder. "We will need to medicate this before you go. I believe I've broken the skin."

"You were, ah, encouraging me. Not that I needed much encouragement. That was pretty good, Spock. One of our best." 

In the comfort of our privacy, he actually smiled, a small, immensely attractive curving of his lips. "Absence making the heart grow fonder, perhaps."

I lightly slapped the side of his thigh. "No. Just missing you." 

"Your missing me manifested itself in an unusual manner. You are not usually so…."

I supplied the word he seemed to have difficulty articulating. "So passive?" 

"Yes." He cocked his head against the pillow in question.

I shrugged. "I don't know why."

He seemed to consider for a moment; I imagine he was fighting the impulse to analyze it, as he analyzes everything, and then he let it go. "It does not matter. I enjoy all sexual acts with you."

"But some more than others," I teased knowingly. My hand strayed down the length of his body, insinuated itself under him to cup the curve of his ass. Not surprisingly, I felt my cock tingling, coming back to life. Spock and I had shared a lot of sex on the ship, and some of those memories were as erotic as hell. 

He smiled again and flexed his buttock against the palm of my hand. "And you know each one of them," he said complacently. "I feel confident that I will be the recipient of your knowledge in the future."

"Shortly in the future," I assured him with a grin. "We do have some time left, you know."

"Yes," he agreed, "we do. I will be happy to engage with you in more sexual activity tonight." He drew a breath.

"But first," I forestalled whatever he was going to say, "I need to tell you why I'm here." 

The light in his eyes showed his sharp interest. He nodded and waited.

Unexpectedly, the words were difficult to find. After being on the tip of my tongue all evening, now they seemed far away and unreal, and I wanted to keep them to myself. Which was ridiculous. Spock would be happy for me. 

"They've promoted me, Spock. Nogura called me to San Francisco tonight and told me himself. They'll be giving me commodore's stripes." 

For a moment his face was blank, the sort of Vulcan-control-blankness that is hiding a reaction, but then that turned into unmistakable pride. He smiled at me and reached up to lay his hand flat on my face. He kept it there, searching my eyes, seeming to drink in the sight of me. And the sight of him was pretty good, too. Worth the trip. I knew he'd be happy. "Jim," he murmured, then he abruptly pulled me down into an enthusiastic full-body hug. "Congratulations" sounded in my ear. "Congratulations." His arms squeezed and then released, and a moment later he was rolling us over so that he was on top looking down at me and still smiling. "Commodore Kirk." His voice, almost always controlled except during sex, vibrated now with emotion. 

I smiled back at him. "You're just the second person who's called me that. Nogura was the first. Nobody else knows."

He lifted a slightly worried brow at me. "Because?"

"Because it's going to be announced at the press conference in Melbourne in…." I glanced over at the bedside clock again, "…about an hour."

He went still. "You wanted me to know before it was announced."

I understood what was moving him. Spock and I, we were committed lovers, if he hadn't been attacked and hurt we probably would have already been bonded, but the end of the ship's mission had thrown our lives into flux. Everything had changed, everything about our lives, and it was natural to wonder if our relationship would survive. I know I had wondered. And Spock, with the history he has of rejection and uncertainty in his personal life—both Sarek and T'Pring had left scars that ran deep—he probably feared more than I had. 

But I wasn't going to let him go. Ever.

"Yes," I said quietly. I ran the back of my hand up his cheek. "My beautiful Vulcan. Of course I wanted you to know first. You're my t'hy'la."

He was very serious, laying naked on top of me and using his first officer's voice. "You could have contacted me by vid-phone. Holo phone." 

"What?" I said, softly teasing. "And miss meeting Commander Webster? How could I pass up that chance?" 

"The commander does have his charms, that is true, but he is hardly worth the—"

"But you are," I interrupted him. "You always are. You always will be."

He stared down at me for a long moment, then he kissed me, softly, gently, but firmly, like a desert flower that blooms in the crevices of rocks: seemingly fragile, actually strong. 

He pulled back before I wanted him to and asked in a normal voice, "Have you told your mother?" 

"No, I thought I'd call her after the press have their way with me. Besides, now that you've met her, you know she won't be surprised. She'll just say it's about time."

"In a way, she would be correct. You are most deserving. Anything less than this promotion would have been unjust." 

I shrugged under his weight. "I wasn't sure. You know these things are half politics. There's a group in the Admiralty, including Komack now that he's been brought back to Earth, that's never been on my side."

"But no one can argue with results. You are a superlative leader."

"Who got into a lot of trouble with the Prime Directive half the time," I said wryly.

His lips quirked as he stifled a smile. "That is true."

"And the hearings on the PD aren't over yet. The debriefing board hasn't issued its report."

"With this promotion, you can be sure that it will be positive. As you said, the politics will demand it."

"I guess. And speaking of politics, this isn't going to be your run-of-the-mill, private ceremony promotion." 

"No?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Andersen and Nogura are in collusion on this one. They're going to make a big deal of this, officially promote me during the Federation Day ceremonies in Paris next month. There should be a lot of press coverage. The council president will be there, and I think he'll be giving a policy speech."

"Another orchestrated event."

I sighed. "I don't mind too much. You know I don't have a problem with being in the limelight if there's a good reason for it. And there is." I tousled his hair to break the mood. "And I expect you to be there. Think you can find the time in your busy schedule?"

"I will not miss that ceremony."

"Good. And sometime afterwards, what do you say we go looking for a place to live? Together. I think a promotion to commodore entitles me to some time off, don't you?"

He regarded me cautiously. "Have you received your assignment?" 

"Not officially. But it looks like Nogura is thinking like we are; he says he wants me in Operations under Hansen. With a hint that the old fellow might be retiring soon."

"That would be excellent, and it would place you exactly where your skills will be most useful. Where you wish to be. However, I am not sanguine about your working with Admiral Hansen. He has a reputation as a difficult—"

"I've always liked San Francisco," I interrupted with purpose. "Although Vancouver is nice, too. But I don't think you'll be needing to commute."

That brought his head up. "Jim, you are teasing me. What have you heard?"

"You know headquarters, it's the rumor capital of the Federation. According to Bob Wesley, who I just happened to meet after I saw Nogura, the transwarp project is in need of a good coordinator with practical experience. He says that your name has surfaced the past week as a likely candidate. What do you think, would you like that?"

He considered it carefully. "I have heard of the difficulties that project has encountered, primarily administrative. However, they are on the verge of testing several prototypes; if one of them is successful, it will revolutionize our mode of space travel."

I frowned. "It sounds like it won't involve much practical science. The Planetary Institute would still be better for that."

"On the contrary, there are some fundamental assumptions about the structure of space that are at question during the transwarp trials. I disagree, as a matter of fact, with the primary design, as it draws on the subatomic resonances of—"

He was putting it on just to amuse me, so I held up my hand to forestall his words. It was a game we had played on the _Enterprise_. "Okay, okay, I get the picture." 

I _oomphed_ as in retaliation he dropped all his weight, which he'd been partially supporting on his arms, down onto my chest. "God, Spock, you weigh a ton," I wheezed. "Get off." 

He rolled over and I followed him, and we moved together into a side by side embrace that was as natural as breathing. 

"Things are working out, aren't they?" I whispered into his ear.

He threaded his fingers through my hair, something he liked doing and had done hundreds of times before. We could have been in one of our bunks on the ship, it felt so familiar, holding him, resting my body against him.

"Yes," he said quietly. He was silent for a few moments, and I just relaxed against him, absorbing his warmth. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "Captain." 

I pulled back to look at him. He said that title as he always has when we're alone; it was full of his affection for me—and something more. Suddenly I understood that controlled, blank look he'd had when I first told him of the promotion.

"You're worried about the difference in ranks, aren't you?" 

He nodded. "We stretched the bounds of the regulations when we were captain and first officer. I am not likely to be promoted to captain anytime soon, Jim."

"You should be."

"But we both understand that I will not be, for many reasons. Now there will be two levels of rank between us."

"And nobody will give a damn."

"I am not so certain."

"I am. Nobody cares who's sleeping with whom, Spock."

"We have been much in the public eye, Jim. We are two men. And we are a human and an alien." I winced, because I didn't allow that word to be used on the ship. Non-human, yes, alien, no. But I saw his point and kept quiet. "And now the difference in rank as well. I fear…."

He didn't finish the sentence, so I pressed him. "Fear what? Nothing's going to happen. You're getting the John Christopher medal next week. I'll be a commodore a few weeks after that. All the right things are happening to us. It will be fine. Trust me."

He smiled gently and reached over to run a finger across my forehead. "James Kirk. The eternal optimist." 

"I'm a realist," I insisted.

"No," he said, suddenly intense. "You are my captain. You will always be my captain." 

Illogical though they might be, those were the words of a lover with his heart speaking. My throat tightened and I choked out, "Always." And then I kissed him. 

The ship had docked eight weeks before, and our lives had changed. But this was the real boundary mark. This was where we stood and affirmed that no matter what altered, be it assignments or ranks or where we lived, one thing would always remain the same. Spock and me, together. 

Someday it would feel natural to hear myself being called "Commodore," and I hoped the time would come soon when I could call Spock "Captain." No one deserved it more. But even on those days and past them, we would always be what we were to one another on that first night when we merged our bodies and our souls: Companions who completed one another.

It was impossible for me to communicate all that was singing in my heart— _you will always be my t'hy'la_ —except through a kiss, and the lift of my arms around him, and the sudden urgency of my yearning cock pressing against his thigh. I plundered his mouth when he opened it like an innocent to me, and I did not allow our mouths to separate when he rolled over onto his back. I followed him, saying _I love you_ with my lips and my tongue. He kissed me back, following me in arousal the way he had followed me in so many other ways on the ship, with integrity and intelligence and his fine, shining soul. 

His hands wrapped around my shoulders, and with an upward tilt of his pelvis his legs were suddenly wide open and wrapped around my hips. The invitation was unmistakable. 

"Oh, God, yes," I murmured against his lips. "Let's do that. Let me make love to you."

But his mouth was so sweet, I didn't want to leave it. I began to rock on him, pulling up just a moment to give our hardening cocks a chance to find their natural places beside one another.

"Jim," he said, and his fingers took possession of my hair again, to pull me down into another kiss that stripped me of any thought except how wonderful it was to be with him like this. 

He thrust up, I thrust down as we kissed, and we did it again and again, gasping out loud when we needed air. I've been excited quickly by his body and even by his spirit before, he has that effect on me. He reaches down into my sexuality and exposes my desires without artificiality. It's a gift, the way he arouses me. 

"I want you," I panted. "Now." I broke away from his mouth to slide down onto my knees between his legs, lingering to press his double-ridged hardness against my stomach and chest. He gasped out loud when his cock sprang free as I straightened. I twisted to look around frantically for the lubricant, had to bend to pick it up from the floor. But I had the cap off and the cream on my cock even as I was turning back to my lover. 

The look in his eyes: he was hungry and wanting and wanton, breathing hard and fully erect, the most beautiful creature I had ever seen, far more beautiful than any woman because I loved him so much. I wanted to just plunge into him, the emotions were still vibrating between us, but making love with a man demanded practicality. I wouldn't hurt him, and so my fingers first had to stretch him. 

"Up, up," I urged him with my coated fingers pointing, but he was already moving to put his legs over my shoulders. In his eagerness, he left almost no room between us for me to insert the cream, so I did it by feel and not by sight, and it took far too long for both of us until he was open and ready.

Sliding into him: home. Pulling out because it sent pleasure shooting up my spine, exploding into color behind my eyelids. So good. So damn, fucking good to be inside him. So right. Thrusting, thrusting, reaching for my home in him, forcing my eyes open to see into his, my lover's eyes of warmest, welcoming night like the one we had just spent together. Wrapping my hand around his cock, fingering his double ridges fast because he likes it like that, hearing him keen out his delight because I was touching him, making his body sing. Loving the way he thrust up against me, aiding my quickening strokes with equal snaps of his powerful hips, hearing him gasp, "Yes, Jim, oh, yes" and knowing he couldn't find any other words because he loved what I was doing to him, what we did to each other.

Wanting to come in him so much, sweating, lunging forward into his sweet hugging warmth, and contrarily not wanting it to end, hoping to draw it out longer, longer, as long as I wanted to stay with him, to have him stay with me, to keep what had drawn us together for the rest of our lives….

But time has a way of marching on, and I could not stay in New Delhi loving my Spock forever in a suspended moment of needing-wanting-pleasure. I stripped his cock from bottom to top with that special twist against the ridges that I know he craves, thrust forward three times and froze as I pumped my seed into his enfolding darkness. 

"Spock," I whispered while I was still shuddering, my face raised to the ceiling, to the sky. "Spock." 

He caught me as I fell forward, as he always does, but I knew he hadn't come yet. So I turned around to lay on the bed next to him, got up on one elbow, and put my hand on him from that better position. Two jerks, three, and he quivered all over, his head shook back and forth, and he wet my fingers with his orgasm. 

Beautiful. 

Heaving for breath, we lay next to each other in the big bed of the suite that the astrophysics conference had given him. My heart was pounding, and I desperately wanted to give in to the urge for sleep again. But I couldn't. I had to leave soon. 

Spock sat up in bed and turned toward me before I could move. No pristine first officer here, but a sexual being with tousled hair and an unmistakable flush to his handsome face. 

"Jim," he said, then waited.

"Yes, lover?" I rested my hand on his leg. I loved the way he looked. Naked.

"I have been contacted by Healer Sluman. He wishes us to make another appointment to see him soon."

I threw off my languor in an instant and bolted upright. Sluman was the Vulcan healer whom Spock and I had consulted on Earth about his loss of Vulcan powers. Two visits had yielded no positive results and had been discouraging. We weren't scheduled to see him again for another four months. 

"Why? What is it? What has he found?"

"I do not know precisely," Spock said slowly. "Another test that has not been conducted before, but I do not see why it would change anything when others have not. You must not become overly optimistic." 

Anything that would work toward giving Spock his abilities back again, that might someday give us the ability to meld and to bond, had to be a very good thing. My spirits lifted even more, and I caught him in a big hug. "Spock! That's great!" 

"Ever the optimist," he chided over my shoulder, but I could feel the guarded happiness in his voice, and I felt it in his relaxed body. He drew back. "Jim, it is just twenty minutes until your press conference. You must prepare to leave." 

I laughed from sheer delight, then scratched his back. "First thing is a shower. I've got a transporter slot reserved for oh-three-hundred."

"Ah," he teased with a twinkle in his eyes, "you were so sure that you would need all the six hours allotted to this visit? Suppose I had not been here?"

"Wouldn't have mattered," I said promptly, "I'd have found you."

I took a quick water shower, dabbed some ointment on my back, then redonned the dress uniform that I'd put on so many hours ago, when the call had come through to Melbourne that I was to attend the Commanding Admiral in his hilltop office off the Pacific coast. Spock slipped in after me and took an even quicker sonic shower. It was a little like being on the ship. From his luggage Spock pulled out an everyday blue commander's uniform that was much more comfortable than what I had to wear. I borrowed his comb, used the hotel's provided toothbrush, inspected my chin to see if I needed any depilatory, and I was ready to go. 

I kissed him just inside the door to the suite. "Thank you," I whispered as I hugged him. He did not contradict me, nor tell me that no gratitude was necessary between us, but he listened to what I had to say. "I really needed this. I thought I was coming to tell you about the promotion, but I think there was something more…."

"You needed me," he said simply. "As I need you. And…." He hesitated.

"What?"

"I am not an expert on human psychology, but I have spent some considerable time observing one human specimen in particular."

I fought to keep a straight face. "That's true."

His hands settled on my ass, another caress. "You required…a small test of yourself. Which I enjoyed, thoroughly."

My unusual passivity. No, I wasn't going to be the commodore in bed. At least not all the time. 

"That's right. All's right with the world." We kissed again, and then it was time to face that world. 

A hotel like the New Delhi Radisson never completely sleeps. The transporter station that any topflight hotel boasted would of course still be manned, and people were scattered through the lobby even at this late hour. 

"Spock," I said in an undertone when we were halfway across the marble and gilt expanse. "Look. Webster."

He was sitting on a stool in the restaurant bar, clearly visible through the glass wall, talking amiably with the bartender. 

"I do not believe," Spock said evenly, "that I will engage the commander in further conversation this evening. This morning."

"He's lonely," I said, tentatively, coming to a stop at the door to the station and pulling out my transporter pass. 

"But I," Spock said definitely, "am not. Jim, I will see you…soon."

"Make that appointment with the healer. Any time will do, we'll work our schedules around it. As soon as possible." 

He nodded in agreement. "Yes."

We entered the tiny station, and I gave the bored attendant my pass. 

"Sir, I already have your coordinates set, if you'll just step onto the pad." 

But first I turned back to Spock. I stood there, staring at his face in silence, and I needed something more to say good-bye than the distance between us. Just at least one touch. My arms went out to him and I again grasped him at the elbows even as he mirrored me. 

"Good-bye, Spock." 

"Good-bye, Jim."

I flashed him a quick smile, then took my position on the transporter pad, mentally bracing myself for the hubbub that was sure to be Melbourne. Spock was standing there, watching me. 

"Prepare to transport," the attendant said.

Spock raised his hand in the Vulcan salute.

The process started, and I almost didn't hear him over the mechanism's hum.

"Live long and prosper, Commodore Kirk."

New Delhi began to fade, but I would always be his captain.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> "One Night" was first published in Beyond Dreams 4. Many thanks to the magnificent Dusky for her editing.


End file.
